


Hot Girl Summer

by unbecomings



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 04:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbecomings/pseuds/unbecomings
Summary: The Thorns end up doing body shots after a game against Seattle, and of course, Emily's at the middle of the chaos. If it makes Lindsey feel some type of way, that's a coincidence.Sort of.





	Hot Girl Summer

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

They are drunk. They are really, really drunk. 

“We should do body shots,” someone says—later there will be some debate as to whose idea it was originally—and the entire team devolves into chaos. It’s Ellie that volunteers Lindsey, after Tobin refuses. 

“We’re going for surface area here,” she says, “for the salt.”

Lindsey turns bright red. Emily can only tell because Lindsey makes a certain face when she blushes; it’s too dark for anyone to actually see how red she’s getting and nobody else seems to have noticed how embarrassed she is. 

“No,” Lindsey says, “I’m not—no, guys, no thank you.”

Emily can only watch a few seconds of their teammates hounding Lindsey before she gets too antsy. 

“I’ll do it,” she yells, and within seconds her teammates have her surrounded. Over their heads and between them she can see the relief on Lindsey’s face. Emily pulls her shirt over her head and clambers onto the shaky folding table. They’re in Huffy’s basement. Menges is the one with the tequila and Ellie is the one clamoring to go first. 

“You’re not even old enough to drink,” Tobin insists.

“I am in Australia,” Ellie says, “where it _counts_.”

Emily has done body shots before but she’s never been the body. Her skin is buzzing from two beers and the win over Seattle and the atmosphere even before Ellie bends over the table. She’s still standing, bracing herself with a hand on either side of Emily’s stomach. Emily holds the tequila shot in one hand and the lime wedge in her other hand, and Menges very carefully measures out the salt, lining it up on her abs.

Someone is probably getting it all on Snapchat. 

The team counts down and Emily closes her eyes. Ellie leans over Emily’s body and licks away the salt, in a line from Emily’s belly button to the bottom of her sports bra. Emily laughs because this is insane. Ellie takes the shot, then takes ahold of Emily’s wrist and puts the lime wedge in her mouth, sucking it clean while it’s still in Emily’s hand. She’s clearly done this before. 

Emily is surprised for a second that Kling is next, but then when she thinks about it she’s really not. 

“I should get to do a shot, too,” she says, but nobody hears her. Kling is too busy hamming it up, making them all count down from ten before she does the shot. She makes a huge show of the whole thing, so that by the time she’s done with the salt everyone’s laughing and cheering, She takes the lime out of Emily’s hand with her mouth, sucks it dry without touching it with her hands, and then spits it into a crowd of their teammates.

The only thing Emily doesn’t like about this--and there’s not much, because she _loves_ being the center of attention, and she relishes any opportunity for people to see her abs that she’s worked this hard on--is that she realizes Lindsey’s by herself. Well, Tobin is probably standing with her, but chances that Tobin lasts more than another 30 seconds before bailing are really low. She cranes her neck to look for Lindsey, but she barely is able to make eye contact before Caitlin is upon her.

Caitlin is not fucking around. Lindsey fades into the background as Emily drops her head back against the table again.

She hops up onto the table and straddles Emily’s thighs.

“We’re not doing the rookie version,” Caitlin says, “put that shit in your mouth.”

Emily laughs but she does as she’s told. Technically Caitlin is right, this is how you’re technically supposed to do body shots. At least, it’s how they did them at UVA, and apparently also how they do them in Australia. With the lime in her mouth she’s mostly wondering what Lindsey thinks of this. Lindsey didn’t go to college, and Emily is a hundred percent sure they don’t do body shots in France. 

Caitlin drags her open mouth _very_ slowly along Emily’s abs. If Emily was at all attracted to Caitlin she would be having an extremely rough time, but luckily for both of them she feels nothing, even when Caitlin hovers over her, face to face. Caitlin knocks back the shot. Emily’s trying not to laugh, because laughing with the lime in her mouth would be a disaster. Caitlin stares at her, smiling wickedly, and then, very carefully, she plucks the lime out of Emily’s mouth.

Their mouths definitely touch, but it’s not a kiss by any stretch of the imagination, and when Caitlin sits up and sucks the lime dry the entire basement erupts. Emily scrambles off the table and realizes she has no idea where her shirt is.

“Here,” Lindsey says, thrusting Emily’s shirt into her hands. She’s still making that face she makes when she’s blushing and Emily wonders if she never stopped or if this is something new. 

“Thanks,” Emily says. She watches Lindsey’s face until Lindsey breaks eye contact. Emily pulls her shirt back over her head and realizes she’s not as drunk as she felt like she was on the table. Now that nobody’s licking salt off of her body, she feels sober and _tired_.

“You want to get going?” she asks, and Lindsey relaxes immediately.

“Yes,” she murmurs, “please.”

-

When they get home, Emily immediately lies on the floor in the living room. Lindsey can tell she’s not drunk, just exhausted and feeling dramatic. Lindsey brings her a glass of water and sits cross legged on the couch. Neither of them speaks for a little while, and then Emily breaks the silence. 

“Sorry,” she says, “that party was kind of a lot.”

“Why are you sorry?” Lindsey asks, “it’s not your fault.”

She watches Emily stare at the ceiling and tries not to replay the party in her head. She really should have left with Tobin, gotten a ride home. 

“Because if I hadn’t volunteered for body shots we could have left,” Emily says.

Lindsey doesn’t say that she could have left without Emily. They both know it, and they both also know that she wouldn’t have. Lindsey sits on her hands and tries to look at something other than Emily. 

“I’ve never seen people do body shots before,” she says, “except in movies and TV shows.”

“We did them a lot in undergrad,” Emily says, “usually off of some guy though, less fun.”

“You did not put your mouth on a dude,” Lindsey says, “I refuse to believe that happened, ever.”

“For alcohol?” Emily says, “I powered through.”

“Gross,” Lindsey says. She does imagine it, though. Mostly she imagines Emily leaning over someone, swiping her tongue along someone’s skin. She thinks about it until she realizes she’s imagining that person as her, and then she closes her eyes and tries to erase the thought. 

“For a second I thought Caitlin was gonna kiss you,” she blurts. Emily doesn’t look up and Lindsey is glad, because she can feel her face burning. 

“Me too,” Emily laughs. 

Lindsey almost asks Emily if she wanted Caitlin to kiss her. Instead she feels herself getting ready to say something much stupider. 

“I wanted to try,” she admits, “just not in front of everyone else.”

Emily sits up immediately. She grins at Lindsey, who has to smile back even though her heart is doing all kinds of weird things in her chest. 

“We have tequila,” Emily says, “let’s do it. Why not?”

Lindsey can’t think of a good reason why not. She ends up fishing the salt out of the cabinet while Emily gets the tequila and disappears headfirst into the fridge. 

“Hey,” she says, “we don’t have limes.”

“Why would we have limes?” Lindsey says, “I don’t think I’ve ever even bought a lime.”

“We have this,” Emily says, producing a single orange. 

“Gross,” Lindsey says, but she takes the orange from Emily’s hand to slice it up. So far she’s managed to avoid making eye contact. She’s afraid if she does she’ll lose her nerve, and she wants to live in this moment for a little longer, feeling like anything is possible, like she’s capable of anything. 

Emily pulls her shirt over her head and gets back down into the floor. Lindsey kneels next to Emily’s hips, but she has a hard time with the salt in the shaker and it ends up all over Emily’s stomach. A vain attempt to line the salt up ends with Lindsey’s hands on Emily’s stomach and she gets distracted by Emily’s abs. She bends down to try and get the salt but she leaves a hand on Emily’s ribs and Emily squirms under her, laughing under her breath until Lindsey lifts her head. 

“_What_?” she asks. It’s hard to be annoyed when Emily’s looking at her like that, with the smile starting in her eyes...and Lindsey’s hand on her side. 

“Nothing,” Emily says, “I’m ticklish.”

“You weren’t ticklish when everyone else was doing this,” Lindsey mumbles. 

-

Emily is not ticklish. She wonders if Lindsey can tell that she’s lying; that her laughter is nervous more than anything else. She feels like if Lindsey could tell, she’d be making fun of her for it, and it occurs to her that Lindsey is just as nervous and that’s why she can’t see past her own nose. This time when Lindsey leans down, she gets her mouth on Emily’s stomach before things go to hell. The salt isn’t in a line so she’s just flattening her tongue and dragging it along Emily’s abs, and Emily has to hold her breath to keep still. Lindsey sits up, huffs in frustration, and uses her hand to brush the rest of the salt off of Emily’s stomach.

“You have to do it all at once,” Emily says.

“The salt has to be in a line,” Lindsey insists. Emily closes her eyes, enjoying the weight of Lindsey’s hand on her stomach and trying to forget what Lindsey’s tongue feels like. She fails miserably, and ends up imagining in detail what Lindsey’s mouth would feel like on other parts of her body.

“Says who?” she squeaks, and Lindsey snorts.

“If I’m doing this,” Lindsey says, “I’m doing it right. Like everyone else did.”

“We’re using a fucking orange,” Emily laughs, and Lindsey pinches her side. Emily yelps and twitches indignantly, shoving at Lindsey’s hand, but she’s also really, really turned on, and the pinch only made it worse. She’s so far gone, all she can do is hope that Lindsey can’t tell.

“Shut up,” Lindsey says, and Emily does, gladly. She sits patiently while Lindsey carefully pours some salt into her own palm, then lines it up on Emily’s abs, in a much more orderly fashion than before. 

“Oh,” Lindsey says, “I was doing it out of order. I have to--give me the shot, I do that first, right?”

“No,” Emily says, “salt first. Lick, sip, suck.”

It sounds _so_ dirty all of a sudden. Emily cracks one eye open to see how red Lindsey is, and she’s not disappointed. If they were still in their jerseys, she’d blend in. She’s concentrating, her dark brows pulled together and her mouth set in a straight line, and Emily wants to kiss her. The body shots at the party were a mistake. Drinking was a mistake. Being alive was also potentially a mistake.

Lindsey holds Emily’s hips in her hands and leans down. She licks a surprisingly confident line along Emily’s abs, getting all the salt in one go. She looks up, but she doesn’t sit up right away, and Emily has her hands full with the shot and the orange slice but it feels stupid now, because it’s not what she wants. And judging by the way that Lindsey is looking at her, it’s not what Lindsey wants, either.

Emily tries to put the shot down properly but she ends up knocking it over in her haste to reach for Lindsey. She cups Lindsey’s face in her hands and drags her up into a kiss, and Lindsey doesn’t resist or hesitate, even for a second. She kisses Emily back like it’s the only think she’s wanted to do all night, and through her t-shirt Emily can feel the warmth of her skin and completely forgets about the mess they’re making--literally and figuratively. The only thing that matters right now is Lindsey, Lindsey’s mouth on her mouth, Lindsey’s chest pressed against hers, Lindsey’s knee pressing between her own, making space for her to slot her thigh between Emily’s legs.

“Fuck,” Emily gasps, and Lindsey seems to agree; she has one elbow braced next to Emily’s shoulder and her other hand resting near Emily’s head, close enough that Emily can feel Lindsey’s fingertips in her flyaways. They’re barely apart for a second before Lindsey kisses her again, hungrier than before, and Emily opens her mouth to the kiss, drunk for the second time tonight, this time drunk on the feeling of Lindsey wanting her the way she’s imagined for longer than she wants to admit. Lindsey seems to lose her confidence until Emily redoubles her efforts, licking into Lindsey’s mouth, fisting her hand into Lindsey’s t-shirt until Lindsey rocks down against her.

Lindsey shifts, pushing her knee back so that her hip presses against Emily’s inseam, and Emily’s breath hitches. She’s trying not to moan when it occurs to her, out loud: “You’re gonna get rugburn.”

Lindsey presses her face into Emily’s neck and Emily barely suppresses a shudder.

“Don’t care,” Lindsey mumbles, rocking her hips into Emily’s again. Emily clutches at Lindsey’s hips, tucking her index fingers under the hem of her shorts. 

“You’ll care when the whole locker room wants to know why,” she says, and Lindsey pulls back. She presses her lips together, and for a second Emily thinks she’s rethinking the whole thing, even the making-out-with-her thing, until Lindsey’s eyes flick down over Emily’s abs again. She rocks back onto her heels and stands, then reaches down to help Emily up like she’s done hundreds of times on dozens of fields.

Emily clasps Lindsey’s wrist and Lindsey pulls her to her feet. Emily uses her grip on Lindsey’s hand to pull them face to face until she can feel Lindsey’s breath against her mouth. 

“Take me to your room,” Emily suggests. When Lindsey looks surprised, she tones it down as best she can: “I don’t want to get salt in my sheets.”

-

Lindsey feels stupid when she takes Emily’s hand to lead her to her room. First of all, Emily knows where her room is--and second of all, she’s holding Emily’s hand. It’s not like she hasn’t before, as a joke, and it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it before--she definitely has--but she can’t shake the feeling that Emily’s going to crack a joke about it.

That fear goes away immediately the second they get to her room. Emily doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t crack a joke. She stares directly at Lindsey’s mouth and shucks her shorts over her hips.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothes,” Emily says.

“You’re blushing,” Lindsey observes, and she can feel how hard she’s smiling.

“Shut up,” Emily says.

Lindsey pushes her by her shoulders, and Emily grins while she scrambles back onto Lindsey’s bed. Lindsey stands for a second just looking at that, at Emily sprawled out on her bed, and then her brain kicks into game mode and she can hear the competitive part of her telling her to do something about it.

She doesn’t bother to get undressed. It would take too much time and all she wants is to get her hands on Emily again. Instead she clambers onto the bed and lets Emily pull her into another kiss. She gets distracted by Emily’s hands on her sides, under her shirt, her blunt nails scraping across Lindsey’s skin. Lindsey uses her knees to press Emily’s legs apart, and when Emily gasps, Lindsey takes the opportunity to kiss her neck. She has a theory that she wants to test, so the next time she rocks her hips down into Emily’s she exhales against the shell of Emily’s ear, and Emily _groans_.

So, mission accomplished. Emily can’t shut up now, which is exactly what Lindsey was hoping would happen. When Lindsey sits back on her heels and slips a hand down into the cup of Emily’s bra, Emily turns her head into the pillow to try to keep quiet. It gives Lindsey a host of ideas that she has to push away to the back of her mind. For now, she bends back down and sucks a hickey into the hollow where Emily’s neck joins her shoulder, a place that she’s admired countless times in locker rooms, in pictures, in the flickering light of streetlights they passed under on the team bus. 

“God,” Emily hisses, “Lindsey--fucking--will you please--”

-

It is so unbelievably embarrassing that Emily has hit rock bottom fast enough to be saying _please_ this early. She’s not begging, but she’s close enough to begging that Lindsey could gloat about it if she wanted to. They’ve been dancing around this weird thing for a while, maybe even a full year by now, and Emily’s not stupid enough to think Lindsey didn’t have an inkling before now. Still, she doubts Lindsey knew exactly how into this she was going to be if it went down, and especially not like this. Emily’s surprising even herself with the way she keeps replaying the failed body shot, Lindsey blinking up through her lashes while she licked along Emily’s stomach.

As it turns out, asking nicely has its perks. Lindsey sits back on her heels again and Emily immediately misses the pressure and warmth of Lindsey’s body. She’s about to protest when Lindsey slides a hand up her inner thigh, then strokes her thumb over the cotton of Emily’s underwear. Emily has to close her eyes and hold her breath. She’s so turned on that she knows Lindsey can tell even with her underwear still on, and she also knows that if Lindsey did everything right she could get off without Lindsey bothering to touch her under her underwear at all.

But she wants that. She wants Lindsey’s fingers. She almost asks for that, too, willing to add another ‘please’ if it means she can speed up the process. 

It’s like Lindsey reads her mind. She places her free hand on the inside of Emily’s other thigh, repeating the same stroking motion with her thumb again and again, adding a little more pressure each time until Emily is squirming and pulling at Lindsey’s bedspread. She hopes Lindsey thinks about that later, imagines her like this when she sees her sheets fucked up.

“Stop thinking,” Lindsey murmurs. She reaches up with her free hand to smooth the crease between Emily’s brows with her thumb, and then, just when Emily has relaxed a little bit, she takes her hand back and tugs Emily’s underwear aside without trying to take them off. Emily is such a mess that it feels apt for Lindsey not to bother. She doesn’t want to wait either. Now Lindsey knows.

Emily watches Lindsey’s expression change as she strokes her fingers up and then down, just teasing. Even though Emily feels like she’s about to burst into flames she lets Lindsey explore, because the look on Lindsey’s face when she realizes how badly Emily wants her is worth it. It gets the point across better than any string of words Emily could come up with, especially right now. Lindsey licks her lips and turns her hand over, and the relief Emily feels when Lindsey finally presses her fingers in instead of up against her is so real that she gasps. 

She ends up covering her own mouth, and she has to close her eyes and dig her heels into the mattress. It’s so much more than she thought, and she wants to roll them over, wants to ride Lindsey’s fingers until she understands a fraction of how badly Emily’s been wanting this for months. Instead she restrains herself, whimpering into the back of her hand, until Lindsey leans up to kiss her. 

It’s overwhelming, Lindsey around her and inside her and reaching for her hand, tugging it away from Emily’s mouth and lacing their fingers together. Emily tried to be quiet but she can’t, and she can’t effectively kiss back, either. She’s lost enough to groan against Lindsey’s jaw when Lindsey finds a new, better, deeper angle, and then _Lindsey_ groans and Emily’s hand, the one Lindsey isn’t holding, comes up to cup the back of Lindsey’s neck. 

When she comes she digs her fingernails into the back of Lindsey’s neck and immediately feels bad. Lindsey doesn’t seem to notice or care. Emily’s hips jerk up against Lindsey’s, and having Lindsey there holding her down makes her come harder than she thought possible. She presses her head back against the pillow and groans hoarsely, and when she opens her eyes Lindsey is watching her. 

Of all the things that have happened tonight that’s the one thing that sticks in Emily’s head. Lindsey watching her fall apart and the sudden, complete understanding that as long as Emily’s been thinking about this, Lindsey’s been thinking about it, too.

That’s what makes her laugh, eventually, when she has enough air in her lungs to do it.

“What?” Lindsey says, both hands braced on either side of Emily’s shoulders. For a moment Emily is worried that Lindsey feels laughed at, but then Lindsey is smiling and Emily isn’t worried about it anymore. She rolls them over onto their sides so that she can kiss Lindsey again, holding Lindsey’s face in her hands. She works a knee between Lindsey’s, and Lindsey makes a quiet, desperate noise into Emily’s mouth. When Emily rolls them over again so that she’s on top, she rocks forward until Lindsey can thrust up against her hip, pressed between Lindsey’s legs. Lindsey holds onto her shoulders but it’s not long before she’s handsy again, this time with a frantic edge, her hands roaming across Emily’s back and sides. 

Lindsey still has all her clothes on. Emily wants to take them off but she can’t stop kissing Lindsey, can’t get over how soft Lindsey’s mouth is, how pliant and soft Lindsey is under her. She wants to hear Lindsey moan again. That’s what she’s thinking when she rolls her hips down into Lindsey’s again. Lindsey rocks up against Emily’s hipbone and whines. She writhes and her face twists up and Emily holds herself up to give Lindsey space to breathe.

“Fuck,” Lindsey mumbles.

“Hey,” Emily says, “you okay?”

Lindsey fidgets underneath her again, holding Emily’s hips in her hands.

“You’re--” she exhales, squeezing her eyes shut, “gonna make me come like that if you’re not careful.”

Lindsey is still in her jeans and underwear. Emily hasn’t even gotten Lindsey’s shirt off yet, although she’s had a hand beneath it for at least the last five minute. She can tell that Lindsey’s embarrassed because her blush has changed, she’s redder than she was before, and she won’t open her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Emily says earnestly, “it’s okay if you-- I want you to. Want you to feel good.”

Lindsey kisses her. Emily gets lost in that for almost a full minute before she remembers what she was doing and rocks down into Lindsey again, and again, sliding her hand up under Lindsey’s shirt to touch her over her sports bra. Lindsey breaks the kiss to breathe, but she’s not completely silent, especially not when Emily redirects to kiss her neck. 

Lindsey clings to her, making little, breathless noises. Emily’s quads have started to burn, but she doesn’t want to stop now, doesn’t want to give Lindsey the chance to be self-conscious again. She holds onto Lindsey with an arm around her shoulder to give her the leverage she needs, and Lindsey thrusts up against Emily’s hipbone, and at first Emily doesn’t realize it when Lindsey comes. Then Lindsey gasps, trapping Emily’s leg between hers, and Emily rests her full weight against Lindsey’s hips while she shakes. She kisses the corner of Lindsey’s mouth and fights the urge to say something, knowing that whatever would come out would be too much.

“Sorry,” Lindsey murmurs eventually. Emily lifts her head, and Lindsey pushes Emily’s hair behind her ears with a trembling hand.

“Don’t apologize,” Emily says. Now, with her leg free, she can roll onto her back next to Lindsey and let them both read.

“It’s been a while,” Lindsey says.

“It’s flattering,” Emily says honestly. When she turns her head, Lindsey is bright pink, but she’s smiling. Emily reaches up to touch one of Lindsey’s dimples, and then, embarrassed by herself, she has to make a joke.

“Next time we should both be naked though,” she says, “it’s more fun that way.”

-

“Next time,” Lindsey echoes, and Emily raises her eyebrows.

Lindsey wants to kiss her, but she’s not sure where they stand now that that’s all over. Then, Emily slings a leg over Lindsey’s hips and props herself upon one elbow, and Lindsey’s fears dissipate. She _does_ wish she had gotten all of Emily’s clothes off, though.

“You could have just told me that you liked me,” she says, reaching out to follow a smattering of freckles across Emily’s stomach, trailing her fingertip across Emily’s belly button until she squirms. Emily is looking at her incredulously, and Lindsey can’t understand it. They could have been doing this months ago.

“I’ve been flirting with you for like a year,” Emily says, “and it hasn’t been subtle.”

“I thought you were kidding,” Lindsey admits. She doesn’t say the next part, which is that she knows she wouldn’t have had the guts to make the first move anyway, even if she had been sure. There were moments that she had thought she was sure, but then something would happen and she’d be convinced it was a game all over again. She’d see Emily flirting with a girl after a game, or the tension would dissipate for a few weeks, and she’d think she had made it all up.

It was always easier with other girls. Lindsey knew what other girls wanted from her, who they expected her to be. With Emily she could never be sure, and trying without being sure was too much pressure for her. 

“I was never kidding,” Emily says, dead seriously. Her eyes are a shade that Lindsey’s never seen them before. 

“_Never_,” Lindsey repeats, trying to tease her, but Emily doesn’t take the bait. Instead she takes Lindsey’s face in her hands and kisses her, just once, thoroughly. When she pulls back and smiles, Lindsey can’t help but believe her.


End file.
